by Jack Treby
‘We all have our weaknesses, Freddie. Don’t think too harshly of him. You know, I think it might be better for all concerned if we just forget all about this.’
‘You don’t think we should investigate further?’
I shrugged. ‘It’s none of our business. Nothing we can do can bring Markham back. Or Matthew Green. And there’s no point the two of us stirring up trouble. If Mr Weiman is aware of what happened, then it’s up to him to sort it out. We should stay well clear.’
‘You really think so?’ Freddie gazed unhappily at his empty glass.
‘I really do,’ I insisted. ‘I came here for a quiet weekend, Freddie. A bit of gambling, a bit of drinking. As far as I can see, there’s no reason for either of us to get involved in anything else.’
A rather wet weekend, too, as it transpired. Freddie and I had lingered too long in the village and, as I had feared, the late afternoon rains had struck before we were within half a mile of the hacienda. It was quite a steep upward climb, that last part of the journey, and once we had got beyond the new road the ground became distinctly muddy underfoot. Freddie had brought an umbrella but it was not much help against the heavily slanted rain. My face was protected from the worst of the downpour by the brim of my hat but the rest of my clothes had quickly become sodden. It was with some relief, therefore, that the two of us made our way into the entrance yard and from there across the lawn – one last steep obstacle – onto the front steps of the hacienda.
Jane Talbot, the big-nosed banker’s wife, was standing on the terrace, observing our arrival with an amused smile. ‘You look drenched,’ she said.
‘Yes, I am rather,’ I admitted tersely. I was not in the mood for banter. I removed my hat and wiped the rain from the brim.
Freddie had already collapsed his umbrella. He was grinning broadly. ‘I don’t mind the rain out here. It’s nice and warm. Like having a shower.’
‘I’ve never liked showers,’ I muttered. My jacket was soaked through and my trousers were spattered with mud. I would have to get changed.
Freddie was not much better off, by the look of him.
‘My husband was looking for you a little while ago,’ Mrs Talbot informed me. ‘He wanted to have a word. I told him you had popped down to the village.’ I frowned, not quite sure what the dull banker would want to talk to me about. We had pretty much exhausted our conversation at breakfast. ‘He’s having a siesta at the moment,’ she added.
‘I’ll speak to him later, then. As soon as I’ve got out of these wet things.’
Freddie had already moved past us and was taking off his boots before entering the hall. I wasn’t going to bother with such niceties. I tipped my head to Mrs Talbot and strode through the central arch into the tiled courtyard. From there I nipped left, underneath the covered way and headed for the rear of the house, where a set of stairs ran up to the first floor. Rain was battering the far terrace and, as I made to ascend the stairs, I heard a cry and a sudden, short series of thumps coming from the rear of the hacienda.
I swerved around the staircase and moved through the far door out onto the back terrace. A second set of stairs to my right connected the upper and lower terraces on the outside. The wood here was slippery and damp with rain.
At the foot of the steps, spread out across the wooden slats, was the plump grey figure of George Talbot. I could tell at a glance that his neck was broken.
Chapter Six
I almost slipped as I moved towards him. The floorboards were a death trap because of that damned angular rain and I took a moment to regain my balance before stepping across and crouching down in front of the prone figure. There was no need to take a pulse. I shuddered, staring for a moment at the twisted neck and the broken glasses, which were still vaguely attached to Talbot’s puffy face. I have seen quite a few dead bodies in my time but I have never got used to the experience. There is something fundamentally wrong in observing a figure who was alive a moment before but who has now breathed his last. Part of it, I suspect, is the sudden slap of one’s own mortality striking one across the face; but a certain natural sympathy for the plight of another is also a factor, even with a comparative stranger like George Talbot. The distinguished grey-haired banker did not deserve such a clumsy, inelegant death. I rose slowly to my feet. There was nothing I could do for him. My only responsibility now was to call the alarm and break the news to the other guests. It was not a task I relished.
A piercing scream from behind saved me the bother. The maid, Isabel, had come out of the kitchen. She raised her hand to her mouth, looking across at the body in horror. Her eyes flicked uncertainly from him to me. I could only confirm the obvious. ‘He’s dead, I’m afraid.’ The maid stood paralysed as I moved across to her. ‘There’s nothing to be done. You’d better fetch Mr Weiman.’
She nodded numbly, her eyes still fixed on the corpse. ‘The poor mister,’ she breathed. ‘Did he fall down the stairs?’
‘I’m afraid so. He wouldn’t have felt a thing,’ I added, attempting to reassure the girl. ‘It would have been over in an instant. Hurry along now.’ She regarded me with a blank face. ‘Mr Weiman,’ I prompted.
‘Yes, mister.’ She curtsied and scuttled back into the house.
I followed her through the archway into the back hall. A set of heavy stairs to my right led up to the first floor landing. There were an awful lot of stairs in the hacienda, it struck me now. The back stairs here, the main stairs in the entrance hall and a further two sets connecting the upper and lower terraces outside. It was these external stairs which Talbot had stumbled on.
Ricardo Gonzales, the engineer, was coming down the steps to my right. He started slightly, catching sight of me at the bottom. He had been coming down at such a lick that the two of us had almost collided. ‘Is something wrong, señor?’ he asked, recovering himself quickly. Gonzales was a short, slender fellow with slicked black hair and a neatly groomed moustache. ‘I heard a scream.’ He peered over my shoulder into the dining room on the far side of the hall, as if the noise had come from that direction.
I shook my head and gestured towards the terrace. ‘There’s been an accident,’ I told him. Gonzales moved towards the arch.
Steven Catesby was descending the hall stairs, followed closely by Miss Bunting. Freddie Reeves popped up from the side hall at the same moment. All three of them had heard the maid cry out. Catesby was the first to catch my eye. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.
‘An accident,’ I said again. ‘Mr Talbot has fallen down the stairs.’
‘George?’ Catesby’s eyes widened in alarm.
‘He must have slipped in the rain.’
‘Good God. Is he all right?’
I hesitated. There was no point beating about the bush. ‘No, I’m afraid not.’
Gonzales had stopped dead just beyond the archway. He blinked at the sight of George Talbot’s body and crossed himself quickly. ‘He is dead,’ the engineer confirmed in a whisper.
Miss Bunting, who had just reached the bottom stair, let out a yelp of horror. Catesby swerved past me and joined the engineer on the verandah. The two of them stood for a moment on the wet floorboards, gazing down at the dead banker, who was out of my line of vision. ‘The poor chap,’ Catesby breathed, turning back to the rest of us. ‘This is awful.’
Miss Bunting moved towards him but Freddie put a restraining hand on her shoulder. ‘Best not, Emily. It won’t be a pretty sight.’
Another sharp voice rebounded across the courtyard. ‘Is something the matter?’ Jane Talbot was making her way across the patio from the front of the hacienda. I shuddered. It was her husband lying dead at the foot of the stairs. ‘What is it?’ she enquired, sensing our disquiet. ‘What’s going on?’
Catesby stepped back into the hallway. ‘Jane, I’m so sorry. Something dreadful has happened. There’s been an accident.’
‘An accident?’ She stared at the Englishman for a moment, her brain taking a few seconds to switch into gear. ‘George?’ she
breathed, at last.
The nod from Catesby was barely perceptible. ‘I’m afraid so.’
For a moment, Mrs Talbot did not react at all; then she asked the obvious question. ‘Is he...?’
There was no need for a reply. The answer was written on all our faces.
‘Where is he?’ she asked, her voice beginning to falter.
Catesby gestured through the arch. ‘You might not want to...’
Mrs Talbot swept past him and onto the terrace before another word could be spoken. Gonzales stepped back to let her through and Catesby followed the Englishwoman out onto the verandah. ‘George!’ she exclaimed, rushing forward out of sight.
Freddie, to my left, was dumbstruck. ‘Did you see what happened?’ he asked me.
‘No. I just heard a thump. I went out and found him lying there at the bottom of the stairs. He must have slipped.’
‘The poor bloke.’
‘I heard a scream,’ Miss Bunting put in.
‘That was the house maid.’
She slid a hand into Freddie’s palm and he squeezed it tightly.
At this point, Gunther Weiman arrived from the side hall. Isabel had found him and passed on the news. Susan Weiman was not far behind. Freddie and Miss Bunting stood back to make room for the older couple. ‘Where is Jane?’ Mr Weiman asked at once.
‘Out on the terrace,’ Freddie told him quietly.
Catesby was already leading the poor woman back into the house.
Mr Weiman quickly took charge of the situation. ‘Susan, take Jane through to the living room. Get her a drink.’ His wife nodded and guided Mrs Talbot away.
‘You should go with her,’ I suggested to Miss Bunting, who was looking every bit as pale as the older woman. ‘You too, Freddie.’ He could provide the girl with a little moral support.
‘Righty-ho.’
As soon as the four of them were gone, Weiman shot a few brief questions in my direction, since I had been first on the scene. I repeated what little I knew and we moved through the arch together, so he could take in the situation for himself. ‘This is terrible,’ he breathed.
Catesby was hovering behind us. ‘I suppose we ought to call a doctor.’
‘It’s a bit late for that,’ I grunted.
‘No, I mean to...certify...’
I grimaced. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘We’ll need to inform the police as well,’ Weiman said. He closed his eyes and brought a hand up to his face. Mr Talbot had been a good friend of his. ‘You didn’t actually see him fall?’ he asked, dropping the hand.
‘No, as I said, I rushed out and found him there. But it can’t have been more than a few seconds after it happened.’
The German peered at me then. ‘Did you see anyone else about?’
I frowned, not sure what he was getting at. ‘No, nobody. I moved across to the body, then your maid came out of the kitchen and screamed and everyone came running.’
‘He should have been more careful,’ Catesby said. ‘Those terraces in the rain. I keep telling people. You have to watch your footing.’
‘His eyesight was not the best,’ Weiman admitted sadly.
We returned to the back hall, where the engineer, Gonzales, was loitering awkwardly.
‘We’ll call for a doctor,’ Catesby resolved. He glanced at his wristwatch. ‘I suppose we’ll have to send someone down to the village.’
‘Don’t you have a telephone?’ I asked. I was sure I had seen one on the table in the entrance hall.
‘Yes, but it’s out of order at the moment. There was a storm earlier in the week which knocked the line down. Gunther’s been on to the phone company to repair it, but nothing’s happened as yet.’
‘In this part of the world, these things take time,’ the German explained. ‘Señor Gonzales, you have a motor-bicycle, do you not?’
‘Yes, señor,’ the engineer replied.
‘I wonder if we could impose on you?’
‘You want me to ride to the village?’
‘If you would be so kind. To call for a doctor for Mr Talbot.’
Mr Gonzales was happy to oblige.
‘Do you have a doctor in the village?’ I asked, out of curiosity. The place seemed rather small for that.
Catesby shook his head. ‘There’s a midwife, I think. But no, the nearest doctor must be a good thirty miles away. We’ll have to put a call through to Doctor Rubio.’
Weiman nodded his agreement. ‘Our family doctor,’ he explained to me. ‘There is a telephone at the post office. The postmaster will open up for us, when he hears what has happened. I will give you the number, Señor Gonzales.’ He put his arm around the engineer and led the man quietly away.
Catesby and I lingered in the hallway, the farm manager scratching at the edge of his moustache. ‘It’ll be dark soon,’ he realised. ‘I doubt the doctor will be able to get here until tomorrow. You haven’t got a cigarette have you?’
The rain was gradually beginning to ease. I gazed out from the west terrace across the damp grass of the kitchen garden. A low brick wall separated the hacienda from the servants’ quarters on the far side. To the left were a series of small administrative shacks and, beyond that, carefully masked by a line of trees, the negro accommodation. The labourers had their own little enclave, set apart from the rest of the estate. Segregation was a way of life here, it seemed. They even had their own path up into the fields.
I took a puff of my cigarette and glanced across at the gaunt figure of Steven Catesby. Despite the riot of curly black hair and the rather jaunty moustache, he was a grim looking fellow just now. ‘I thought today was going to be such a good day,’ he said, exhaling a cloud of pallid smoke. ‘But it’s just gone from bad to worse.’ His hands were shaking slightly, the enormity of what had happened only now beginning to sink in. ‘I can’t believe he’s dead. Old George. I was just speaking to him a couple of hours ago.’
‘Did you see him fall?’ I asked. Mr Weiman had not thought to ask but it seemed an obvious question to me. Catesby had been upstairs at around the time of the thump.
‘Me? No, I was in my bedroom. I was just coming out onto the landing when I heard Isabel scream.’ He took another drag of his cigarette. ‘Why didn’t he use the stairs in the hallway? That’s what I don’t understand.’
‘Did you know him well?’ I asked. ‘Mr Talbot?’
Catesby considered for a moment. ‘I suppose so. On and off. He was good friends with Gunther. But our dealings were a little more formal. Bank manager and client.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘He could be rather pig-headed sometimes. Everything had to be done the right way.’ Catesby tapped out a little ash from the end of his cigarette. ‘We had a bit of a set-to this afternoon, the last time I saw him. He was being insufferable, as always. Digging in his heels. Poor chap. I’d have talked him round but...’ He sighed again. ‘It’s too late now. It’s Jane I feel really sorry for. This will hit her hard.’
‘Do they have a family? The Talbots?’
‘A daughter, I think. In Guatemala City. The poor girl.’
The roar of a motor-bicycle startled us momentarily. A shaft of light cut across the administrative block. ‘That’ll be Mr Gonzales, off down to the village,’ I guessed. Catesby sighed again and the two of us stood in silence, puffing away on our ghastly American cigarettes.
The banker’s death had seriously rattled the man, I could see. That was hardly surprising, even if the two of them had not been friends. But it was interesting to hear that they had recently argued. My mind drifted back to the conversation Freddie and I had had with Alberto in the village. He had said Matthew Green had fallen down a set of stairs and that Catesby had been responsible. I wondered idly if it was the same set of stairs. It would be an odd coincidence if it was. Not that I suspected any foul play. Talbot had slipped on a couple of wet floorboards and lost his footing. It was very sad, but there was nothing more to it than that.
Gunther Weiman emerged from the main hall to interrupt our melancholy s
ilence. ‘Señor Gonzales has just left,’ he informed us.
Catesby found an ashtray and stubbed out the end of his cigarette.
‘He should reach the village in about fifteen minutes. I have given him a message for Doctor Rubio. I don’t think it would be fair to ask him to come here this evening. It is far too late to travel all this way. I have asked him to call first thing tomorrow morning.’
‘What are you going to do about the body?’ I enquired, stubbing out my own cigarette with some relief. ‘We shouldn’t really leave him lying out there on the terrace all night. It feels a bit...disrespectful.’
‘You are right,’ Weiman agreed. ‘We should at least bring him inside the house. But I think perhaps first of all we could all do with a drink. You look as if you need one, Mr Buxton,’ he observed kindly.
‘I think we all do,’ Steven Catesby agreed.
‘Everyone else is gathered in the living room. Susan is taking care of Jane.’
‘I’ll be along shortly,’ I said, glancing down at my mud-splattered trousers. ‘Just as soon as I’ve had a change of clothes.’
Maurice adjusted my neck tie with his usual precision. I had found him loitering outside the kitchen and dragged him upstairs. He had heard the news about Mr Talbot’s death but did not seem unduly perturbed. The pained expression on his face as we arrived in the bedroom was the same expression he had worn the day we had first met. If anything, I was the one who was a little out of sorts. ‘It was just my luck, to be the one to stumble across the body,’ I muttered.
‘It was most unfortunate, Monsieur,’ the valet agreed. He had laid out my dinner jacket on the bed. It was a little early to be changing for supper but I had to get out of my wet clothes and there was no point changing twice. Satisfied with the tie, he grabbed the jacket and helped me into it.
‘Odd coincidence, though, him falling down the stairs,’ I said. ‘After what happened to that other fellow.’
‘Yes, Monsieur.’
I had had a little time now to reflect upon the matter and the more I thought about it, the odder it seemed.